“My Lord?” Morgause said, looking inquiringly at Britt.
Britt tipped her head back on her neck, as though she were considering the heavens. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, dazed sounding as she turned to sweep down the dais.
“Of course,” Morgause said, although Britt barely heard her.
The enchantment was no longer a question of honor, but a movement of slavery. Something had to be done, Britt would see to that.
For three days Britt paced in the privacy of her chambers. A mirror hung on the wall across from her—or at least what passed as a mirror in the medieval ages. It was little more than a large, slightly curved disk of highly polished metal, but it still produced a clear reflection when one drew close enough.
Britt shied from it like a deer fleeing fire, although she occasionally stopped in front of it.
She knew a regular parade of men had stopped outside her doors: Sir Ector, Sir Kay, Sir Ulfius, Sir Griflet, and Ywain. Only Merlin had dared to enter her chambers, and all he did was wordlessly watch her for a few minutes before he went back in the hallway with Cavall and ordered everyone to leave her alone.
Britt had spent all three days pondering and thinking of the ways her men could be saved from Morgause—it could be done. Griflet seemed to have shaken off all traces of his admiration for Morgause, but Britt didn’t really understand how that happened.
As the third day came to a close Britt’s tired mind grasped two concepts. First of all, Merlin would not save her knights. Either he was a total hack of an enchanter, or he had decided for some inexplicable reason that Britt needed to sort out the enchantment herself.
Secondly, Britt knew in her gut that she would have to be the one to rip the enchantment from her men’s eyes. For a time she had entertained the idea of asking Nymue, the Lady of the Lake, to step in. But the memory of young Griflet lurked in the back of her mind.
“Unless it took getting his brains bashed out by King Pellinore, I think clearing the enchantment had something to do with me—as selfish as it sounds,” Britt said as she slowly moved to her mirror as if it were dragging her forward.
Britt studied her reflection in the metal mirror. There were traces of her old self there—the Britt from America. It was the way the tunic seemed foreign on her, as if she were donning a disguise.
Britt reached out and placed a hand on the mirror. “I wonder, if I become the king Merlin wants, the king Gawain thinks I am… will there be any of me left at all? Or will it all be King Arthur?”
Britt closed her eyes against the thought, and was assaulted with the image of Sir Bedivere’s pleading eyes.
“I owe it to him. I swore it in my vows that I would be a true King when they crowned me. But I don’t want to give up all of me and be the Arthur of legends!” she moaned, briefly sinking to her knees.
There came at the back of her mind a nagging thought. What if she didn’t become the Arthur of legends? What if she gave in and finally acted the part of king? That didn’t mean she had to wear the ridiculous shoes and chausses when she could order boots and breeches to be made. Hadn’t she already done as much by asking Kay to have a riding helmet made for her?
Britt grasped this mad idea and fanned the flames. “Even if I went back home, I could never be plain Britt from America again. Change is not a bad thing, and who says I have to give up everything and adopt all details of life here? “
Britt stood and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “Forget King Arthur. I’m King Arthurs. And no one enslaves my men and gets away with it.”
Chapter 6
The Battle for Knights
The throne room was in an uproar. Britt could hear it through the door hidden behind a tapestry on the back wall of the dais that her throne was placed on.
A week had passed, an entire precious week. It was necessary for Britt to set her plan into motion. She backed off more than usual, letting Morgause think she had won, and even did her best to occasionally give the queen a calf eyed look.
Kay and a few others had taken Britt aside and asked her to do something—to kick Morgause out of the castle—but Britt refused and Merlin surprisingly agreed with her. Merlin had even agreed to the queen’s request of scheduling a hunting party.
Left completely unchecked, the theatrics and dramatics regarding Morgause had reached new heights. Based on the bits Britt could hear through the door, four of her knights were challenging each other to duels at the top of their lungs over a flower from Morgause’s hair. Two men were quarreling over who should read Morgause their sonnet first, and the rest was lost in the mindless roar of lovesick knights.
It reminded Britt of the fanatical antics of the paparazzi chasing a celebrity.
“I believe you are ready, My Lord,” Ywain said, bringing Britt out of her thoughts.
“So soon?” Britt asked as Griflet polished her left gauntlet one more time.